


Forever Not Yours

by SoldierOfMyShadowyMind



Series: Unspoken [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Distrust, Hate at first sight (that develops into love), Heated kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Intensity, Lack of Sleep, M/M, Nightmares, Suspicions, Winterhawk Week, a lot of darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoldierOfMyShadowyMind/pseuds/SoldierOfMyShadowyMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn’t ask for your love.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever Not Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Something serious after the crap yesterday. This has gotten a little dark and there’s surprisingly little conversation in this.  
> Written for WinterHawk Week 2015 Day 2 – Hate at first sight (that develops into love).

It’s late in the night and Clint is lying wake on his bed, wearily staring at the ceiling but his mind is comfortably blank. He can’t pinpoint what it is that’s keeping him from falling asleep because he feels calm, at ease even. The window is slightly opened, a cool nightly breeze sweeping into the dark room and grazing over Clint’s bare arms. The night is just as quiet as he is. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the movement visible but inaudible.

It’s when Clint shifts to throw a glance at the digital clock on the bedside table – it’s 2:40 am – that his ears perk at a sound coming from outside and then moving to one of the lower levels of the tower. He harkens into the darkness, trying to figure out the origin but it’s too far away to assess properly. So, because he’s got nothing better to do and because he wants to know Clint gets up from the bed, one swift, silent motion, and heads for the door. Out in the corridor he stops and listens again but the elevator has to take him all the way down to the hallway until he can make out the faint sound as voices talking to each other. Clint doesn’t feel like a spy when he’s standing just a metre away from the doorway, hidden by the shadows that are creeping through the sleeping tower, and leans his head against the wall, none of his movements making even a single sound.

The voices, he soon identifies, belong to Steve and Sam.

“What are we supposed to do now? We can’t very well just keep him here.” That is Sam and he sounds indignant, voice tense in their heated discussion, although he does his best to keep it low.

Steve’s answer is barely above a whisper, tone husky. “This is exactly what we’ll do. Unless you’ve got a better suggestion.”

A pause, and Clint can imagine Sam fumbling for something that’ll convince Steve.

He fails because the sound drifting to Clint’s ears is Cap speaking. “Look, he’s safe here, and we’ll work out what to do next when we’ve told the others. Just leave it now.”

Feeling drawn like a magnet and too curious to see who they’re talking about to just go back to his room Clint steps out of his shady corner and into the room that’s only enlightened by the moonlight shining brightly through the floor-length windows.

“Hey guys” he greets them with a grin that does feel a bit fake.

Sam spins around, he obviously hasn’t heard him approaching but Steve remains composed. Clint thinks to see his shoulders slacken marginally and when he turns to face him, the tiredness is too evident in his features.

“Clint.”

“Yeah, sorry to crash your party but err…” he trails off as he spots the moving shadow in the corner somewhere behind Steve.

A man emerges, head lowered, long hair falling into his face. Clint’s eyes are instantly drawn to his left arm. It’s glistening. It’s metal.

Steve weakly gestures between them by way of introducing, a sigh accompanying his words. “Clint, this is Bucky.”

The man – _Bucky_ – slowly raises his head, and when his eyes meet Clint’s the archer feels them piercing right through him. He suppresses his initial instinctual reaction of taking a step back and instead remains where he is. He suddenly wishes to have taken his bow and quiver with him because the man staring at him feels like a genuine threat, the way he radiates power and ruthlessness. Clint doesn’t trust the look he’s got in his eyes. It’s ferocious, wild, but eerily controlled which sets his senses even further on edge and he imploringly hopes Steve knows what he’s doing for by bringing _him_ here, he’s probably endangered much more than just the friendly atmosphere in the tower.

Clint swallows, body completely under control and eyes fixed on the grey still inquisitively staring at him. The look leaves him slightly puzzled but he doesn’t waste further thought on it because now he’s got to deal with having the Winter Soldier as his neighbour.

 

 

The next morning is dull just as the past couple of days have been and Steve looks sleep-deprived when he shows up in the communal area for breakfast. And that is saying the very least. Clint can tell he’s not had a mere hour of sleep by the way his eyes fall shut and he sneaks a minute of rest over his untouched breakfast every once in a while.

The following argument about what to do with their guest that arises after Sam’s left the cat out of the bag rather involuntarily and accidentally doesn’t contribute many positive factors to Steve’s condition.

The subject of the discussion is nowhere to be seen, though, and it makes Clint a little twitchy.

Later he finds Bucky on the roof when the feeling of tightness drives him mad and the need for fresh air is getting overwhelmingly acute. The archer stills the second he spots the unfamiliar outlines and sucks in a sharp breath, the sudden noise causing the other man to turn around and once again grey meets blue, the soldier’s expression so disconcertingly empty and controlled, eyes narrowed the tiniest bit at his unexpected company that Clint can’t suppress the shiver that has goosebumps rising up his arms when a breeze sweeps over the open platform. He’s not able to describe what exactly he’s seeing in those eyes but he isn’t sure if he’s really so keen on finding out, either.

This time, however, he gives in and turns to head back down because he doesn’t want to be up there with him and because there is something in Bucky’s eyes that Clint recognises from his own expression when he looked into a mirror after Nat’s cognitive recalibration had knocked his head back into alignment and the look in Bucky’s eyes, carefully concealed behind a cryptic mask, is… _lost._

But Clint doesn’t admit the second reason to himself.

 

 

Steve doesn’t let Bucky out of his sight and the beginning is tough, leaving Clint wary and Steve exhausted. Plans are being discussed behind Steve’s back and Clint knows what they’re talking about but he doesn’t participate because as much as he doesn’t trust Bucky, he will not stab Steve in the back, this isn’t what he deserves for all the devotion he gives to his best friend. Although Clint doesn’t want to disillusion Steve he thinks that perhaps his friend is clinging a little too tightly to the hope of getting back the man he knew when inevitably all efforts will be in vain. As much as Steve wants to believe there is a cure, Clint can’t seem to find one but maybe both of them aren’t seeing the world clearly right now.

Not one word has been exchanged between Clint and the soldier yet but Clint doesn’t feel the necessity of changing that and talking generally doesn’t seem like an activity Bucky pursues regularly. One time Clint overhears a hushed conversation between Bucky and Steve but he doesn’t linger where he’s loitering around in the corridor in front of the door left ajar because it feels like betraying Steve.

Clint starts to be more careful and Nat calls it paranoia but Clint is barely listening to her, very aware of the glances that the soldier keeps on him like an animal on its bait.

 

When a mission calls in Steve is reluctant to go and leave Bucky alone and when they return every one of them who assured him that he’ll be all right bites their tongues for the destruction they’re confronted with renders them all utterly disbelieving. Clint follows Steve on his search for Bucky and they find him hunched over on the ground in the middle of the broad corridor of the Captain’s floor, head buried in his hands, metal arm missing more than just a few plates and wires. Someone has been tearing at the insides violently, digging for something and destroying everything in its way. That this someone was Bucky himself is just too evident by the way his flesh hand is covered with bruises and blood from the attempt of ripping out components of the cybernetic prosthetic. But it’s when Clint’s eyes catch sight of the three bodies littering the floor amongst shards of glass and blood that he tenses up, his body instinctively switching into defence mode and he has his bow drawn and arrow notched before his mind has time to authorise the movement. The brutality with which the men have been killed shocks Clint and the thought cements itself in his head that if this is the soldier losing control then they’re living with a constant threat, a time bomb ready to explode any minute. A feeling creeps into his bones and it’s not mere distrust anymore that has his senses on high alert from now on.

When Steve glances up at him from where he’s slouched on the floor in front of Bucky, both arms wrapped around his friend, it’s a look full of sorrow and fear that meets his eyes, pleading for him to lay down the weapon and Clint complies with a single nod.

 

Clint doesn’t see much of Bucky in the following weeks but what he sees only serves to reinforce his initial sentiment towards the man. Steve’s tried more than once to convince them that they don’t have to be so sceptical, that all Bucky needs is time to recover but Clint can’t bring himself to grant him the favour, not after the massacre he’s witnessed. He’s always approached people with a critical eye but the Winter Soldier is playing in whole new league. Clint simply doesn’t feel safe with him around and this feeling of constantly being watched keeps him up during the nights and alerted during the days and it’s slowly getting to him, the lack of sleep – a condition he shares with Steve – nagging at him until he passes out on the sofa one day.

 

Bucky acts oblivious around the others but Clint senses he feels the hostility the archer shows towards him and it doesn’t surprise Clint when he finds the suspicion mutually returned initiating the weirdest kind of relationship he’s ever shared with someone. Although it is not a relationship, more tolerating the other’s presence in fear of disappointing Steve and Clint almost laughs at the irony. They’d probably kill each other when left alone but they manage to behave just because they both don’t want to disappoint their friend and once Clint wonders whether Bucky sees him as a rival for Steve’s affection.

 

The day comes when Steve is away and Clint has to deal with it on his own. Not that he personally has to deal with it, with _him_ , but not having Steve around for support makes it even harder for him to accept Bucky’s presence as a regular addition to their circus.

As if all of that isn’t enough already, it’s one of these days again when Clint is so tired that he can barely keep his eyes open and Nat is constantly at his side, persuading him to go have a lie down. His protests get weaker the more attempts he has to brush off and eventually his exhausted body can’t resist the soft cushions of the sofa in the communal area.

Immediately he is consumed by blackness and the nightmare wraps its lurking tentacles around him, reaching for his mind to play with and Clint is reliving New York all over again, panic bubbling like a volcano inside of him and turning his dream into a horrible world of icy blue and cold death, death of the wrong people. The lack of sleep is the invitation for the nightmares to come back full force whenever he is so careless as to close his eyes but this time it feels so real, so _tangible_ as if he’s physically there again, Loki’s sceptre touching his chest right above his heart fuelling his fear with Tesseract energy. The god is standing right in front of him, reaching out a hand and its fingers curl around Clint’s shoulder and with a horrified cry of angst and pain he startles awake, sitting up straight and breathing heavily. The room around him is familiar and he grips onto the back of the couch to steady himself. It takes the archer a few seconds before the fact registers with his mind that the touch is still there. Head snapping to the side he stares at the hand in horror but when he follows the arm the image of Loki contorts and Clint is left staring into lately familiar features.

“You were screaming.” The voice is matter-of-fact, stating the obvious.

Clint blinks a few times until he’s approximately sure he can trust his eyes. The soldier, _Bucky_ , is standing in front of him, slightly bent down and his face is calm and even, not showing the slightest crack of emotion.

“Nightmares?”

It’s a single word, a simple question and yet it implies so much and after the first wave of shock has washed over him and the initial tension vexing his body when he saw Bucky of all people standing next to him has worn off, Clint finds himself nodding, oddly grateful that it’s Bucky who found him because for some reason Clint knows he knows, he _understands_ and he can’t quite keep the tortured expression from surfacing when he looks him in the eyes and doesn’t find the piercing stare but a gentle grey that tells him that he’s fine, that it’s over.

Bucky withdraws his hand and shifts to sit next to him and for the first time in weeks they talk. At first, it’s a mere awkward exchange of monosyllabic answers to carefully chosen questions but as time goes by the ice between them begins to thaw and they share hopes and fears.

 

 

Now Clint hears them, every night, the terrified screams, muffled by fabric and a couple of floors that separate them. He sees past the mask of cold, emotionless detachment into a tortured soul and he slowly comes to understand what it means to be Bucky Barnes. Clint doesn’t even dare wonder how many times Bucky went through this already and how many times he wished for somebody at his side when he had no one.

And when Steve is away, Clint is there to comfort him, soothe him when remembering gets too tough and the memories too atrocious to bear. And every time Clint is shocked by how brave Bucky is to carry on afterwards, to pick the pieces of his shattered existence back up again each time and rather face the devastation alone than to bother Steve. The fact that the willpower this man brings up is not enough to ban HYDRA from his head makes Clint feel miserable and angry for him and he knows that his own experiences can’t even rudimentary be compared to the seventy years hell Bucky had to endure.

Bucky might be estranged from the world but he’s not a stranger to all its cruel ways of breaking someone.

 

One night Clint wakes up from the sheer silence in the tower. Coming to terms with his initial suspicion towards Bucky Clint finally allows his body to rest again and between sheer exhaustion and helping Bucky through nightly panic attacks the nightmares have subsided. But tonight is different, not on the wrong side of different, not alarmingly different, just something Clint can’t pinpoint and he doesn’t like it when he can’t quite wrap his head around things. So he gets up, just to check. It might be nothing but for all he’s come in contact with these past few weeks it might as well be the end of the world as he knows it.

 

Clint finds Bucky on the roof. This man has a habit of being at the oddest places in the middle of the night. Not that Clint doesn’t know another person inhabiting this tower who shares these preferences. Clint moves slowly, silently, but he knows Bucky has noticed him already when he comes to a halt beside him. They stand in complete silence for a while but it doesn’t feel awkward and Clint ventures into enjoying the companionable aura of it. Just that _companionable_ isn’t the word he’s looking for.

Bucky breaks the moment first. “Why are you up here?”

Clint chuckles quietly to himself. Instead of answering he provides, “I could ask you the same question.”

Bucky considers this for a moment. “But you won’t.” His voice is even, serious, but there isn’t anything akin to confusion sounding in it.

Clint stealthily watches him out of the corner of his eye and he’s amazed by the calm the man next to him is radiating. His grey eyes seem distant and Clint doesn’t even dare guess what he’s thinking about but he knows Bucky isn’t worlds away, no, he’s right here.

“No” he says truthfully with a gentle shake of the head. “I won’t.”

Bucky doesn’t even do so much as shift, he’s perfectly still but not tensed as he usually seems to be. Clint finds himself strangely drawn to him and something tightens around his chest, constricting his heart as he stands there and watches him. It fascinates him how unreadable Bucky is. Expression always unmoved, carefully professional, never dropping the mask Clint has learnt the first feeble steps to decipher. Clint understands why Steve is frustrated. This shell is hard to crack. He finds himself wondering what one would find inside of it when stripping it bare of the torture and the pain when the other man’s voice, hoarse from disuse, cuts through the quiet air again.

“You understand me.” It’s a statement, not a question but it lacks the confidence and in this very moment Clint suddenly understands that beneath it all lies a man seeking confirmation, acceptance, a steady halt he can rely on. And Clint is willing to offer him that.

He nods. “Yes, I do.” And he gets the feeling that he truly does, although he can’t put his finger on the day when he started trusting Bucky Barnes. Maybe he still doesn’t do so fully but there’s a weird feeling of attachment creeping through his bones when he chances another glance at him.

Bucky must have noticed because he turns and when their gazes meet it freezes Clint and a shiver causes uncontrolled movement in his body.

Bucky shifts, inclining his head and narrowing his eyes at him. “You’re shaking” he observes and Clint feels it stab right through his heart when he hears the worry in his voice.

He bites his bottom lip and it hurts when his teeth dig into the tender flesh but the pain steadies him, keeps him from giving in to the foolishness that has his hands trembling. They’re only inches apart and suddenly the air between them feels too thin and too hot all at once but Bucky doesn’t seem to notice any of that. Instead he just steps even closer and it looks as if he’s moving through syrup when he raises his right arm, flesh hand coming to rest on Clint’s shoulder, squeezing it ever so gently. Clint isn’t able to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s and he doesn’t know if the other man notices the storm he’s unleashed inside of Clint. The world has slowed down around them and Clint just stands there, unable to move, waiting for the inevitable blast wave. Bucky’s eyes slice straight through him but it doesn’t feel as hostile as on their first encounter and Clint wants to laugh at how easily this man has him trapped, at how ridiculously fast things went from bad to worse and at how unavoidably he’s going to ruin it all in a second.

A thumb brushes against his cheek and this is the final trigger. Clint knows he’s going to regret this in a second but right now his mind goes blank and he doesn’t think anything when he wraps a hand around Bucky’s neck, pulling him down. The kiss is fierce, lips colliding with such force it breaks Clint right then and there, and he’s startled by how willingly Bucky complies. The roughness of this gentle gesture has him shaking but instead of flinching away he leans further into it, eyes slipping shut, the intensity engulfing them in a storm of unspoken emotions.

And Clint falls. Into a yawning abyss of darkness that screams of mistake but the feeling of Bucky’s rough lips, of chapped skin pressed against his own in the desperate search of a tiny spark of hope to cling to is enough to make him throw all caution into the wind. It frightens him when he realises how much his body was yearning for this moment, craving the physical contact and he lets out a sharp gasp when his back collides violently with the railing circumventing the platform. Bucky’s metal hand is pressed flat against his chest while his other has found its way into Clint’s hair and the rather firm grip it’s established there brings tears to the archer’s eyes but he blinks the salty water away as best as possible, never opening his eyes because he doesn’t want to, doesn’t need to see. His own hands fisted in the back of Bucky’s shirt he trembles when cold metal fingers slide swiftly underneath his shirt, touching the heated skin around his waist and then the spot right above his racing heart and as much as he is afraid of this he _wants_ it, wants it so desperately it’s scaring. He can’t help the moan that slips out of his throat and he tightens his grip because of fear of tipping over the railing both metaphorically and literally. He clings on to Bucky and tries to remember a time he’s felt like this but his mind doesn’t provide him with any moment similar to this. It’s a feeling of utter helplessness, and he knows he’d fall if Bucky didn’t hold him but at the same time there’s a fullness spreading in his aching chest, filling his body with a giddiness of upmost level and his knees feel like pudding.

The way he’s slowly losing control feels dangerously enchanting and he, impossibly, deepens the kiss, not giving a damn whether he’ll come out of it bearing bruises that’ll raise collective eyebrows.

When they break apart they’re both gasping for air, Clint bent over and leaning his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. Beneath the fabric of the shirt he can feel the jagged line where skin meets metal but instead Clint focuses on the hand on his back and the touch is eerily grounding. The light-headedness that had taken control over him slowly fades and he relaxes a bit but collapses eventually when Bucky draws him into a tight embrace.

They’re both quiet and the minutes pass by without a single word being spoken, the only sound being the inhales of breaths that are becoming gentler and calmer.

Again it is Bucky who speaks first, his voice still rough and hushed and Clint shudders when Bucky’s breath grazes his cheek. The words that are muttered into the air of the night surprise Clint, so much that he looks up, his head snatching up in a movement too quick and he hears something creak disconcertingly in his neck. Their faces are so close that they’re sharing the same air but Bucky doesn’t look at him when he speaks.

“I didn’t ask for your love.”

How naturally he’s implying it. Clint wouldn’t have gone so far as to calling it _love_ but now that the word’s out in the open he considers it and comes to the conclusion that perhaps that’s what’s crawling underneath his skin. The feeling that has bothered him for a while and now breaks way to the surface after weeks of suppression and Bucky didn’t reject him, didn’t push him away so Clint carefully hazards to think that he feels the same. He doesn’t know if it’s this that Bucky expected but in this case, in Clint’s view of the man holding him tightly, understanding goes so much further. And he doesn’t care if there’ll be consequences and he doesn’t think about what he’s rushing into head first because damn it, he’s lost control over his movements because he’s leaning in again and his whole body trembles when their lips meet again, sweetly and tenderly this time, sending shivers of delight and pleasure and… _relief_ down his spine.


End file.
